LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap!L5-_- Copyright Ko, 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



m 
% 1bou6ton niMmin 




Ibenri? ^. Coatea & do. 

pbtlabclpbia 

1900 



Copyright^ igoo 
HENRY T. COATE;s & CO. 

All rights reserved 



TO THE READER 
(from the: originai. kdition) 

This little volume is not published, but is 
presented to the friends of the author as a slight 
memento of kind feeling, which he is confident 
will be reciprocated by indulgent criticism. 

Some of the verses in this collection have ap- 
peared in print before, in Souvenirs or in Maga- 
zines ; most of them, however, are the *' lays of 
his boyhood," and recall to the writer the 
moments of idleness which they so pleasantly, if 

not profitably, employed. 

J. H. M. 

PHII.ADKLPHIA, 
Oct. ist, i8j^. 




CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To THE Spirit of Poesy 1 

"Far I Wander" 2 

"Tho' on Savannah's Sunny Shore" . . 4 

The Twilight Walk 6 

"I Passed One Gorgeous Evening" ... 8 

"Nay, Warn Me Not" 11 

Forebodings . 13 

To Marian 15 

The Solace of Nature .... 17 

To A Lady . . • 21 

The Storm 23 

To A Portrait of a Lady 25 

The Wild Swan 27 

To A Majestic Tree 29 

A Memory 31 

"Oh, Was it in a Land of Dreams" . . 33 

The Nameless Star 35 

The Early Dead 38 

Lost Hours 41 



vu 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Woodland Walk 43 

Revisited 45^ 

In Youth 48 

The Conjunction of Two Planets .... 50 

Death 52 

On Presenting a Rose 53 

To a Miniature 55 

"Whene'er I Think How Brief" .... 56 

"I Think of Thee" 58 

To a Lady Singing . 59 

The Poet 61 

"I Could Have Borne" 62 

The River 64 

"My Own Familiar Name" 68 

Regret 70 

Note 73 



viii 



PREFACE 

J. Houston Mifflin, the author of these I<yrics, 
was born in 1807 and died in his eighty-second 
year. He was descended on the paternal side 
from Friends who came from Wiltshire, Eng- 
land, in 1679, and settled upon ground now 
included in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia. 

Mr. Mifllin was educated at the Friends' West- 
town Academy, and then entered, as a student, 
the Pennsylvania Academy of The Fine Arts, 
and afterwards pursued his study of art in Europe 
in conjunction with the American artists, Healy, 
Eraser, and DeVeaux. 

Returning to America in 1837 Mr. Mifflin 
painted portraits for some years, chiefly in the 
cities of the South Atlantic States, where most of 
his works remain. He married in the North in 
1844, but the great delicacy of his wife's health 
— which increased rather than diminished during 
all of her subsequent life — caused him to relin- 
quish his profession in order to devote himself 
entirely to her welfare and that of their children. 



v«*> 



Thus suddenly ended, when it had really but be- 
gun, his career as a portrait painter. Of this 
abandonment of all his cherished dreams of suc- 
cess — of this silent tragedy, for tragedy it was — 
Mr. Mifflin never spoke, but doubtless he made 
the sacrifice gladly. 

Thus the author of these poems, who might 
have contributed his share to the portraiture of 
his day, was debarred in his prime from that dis- 
tinction, and passed the remaining two score 
years of his life in the unartistic precincts of a 
country town. A town, however, which was 
' not unappreciative of his qualities of mind and 
heart ; of that there was always touching evi- 
dence in the genuine regard paid him on every 
hand. 

Mr. Mifflin's character was quite unique in its 
contrariety of elements. To that courtliness of a 
gentleman of the old school — the distinguished 
bearing, and the polished politeness to women — 
he added at times in his intercourse with men, 
fiery outbursts of indignation and vehement de- 
nunciation, to be followed, perhaps, by a manner 
that was almost feminine in its winsomeness, yet 
which was without a trace of effeminacy. 



Though Mr. Mifflin lived for taore than fifty 
years after the publication of this his first volume, 
he wrote no more verse ; indeed he never referred 
to his own poems. He was too great a lover of 
the best in literature to overrate the productions 
of his youth ; and he remained through life a 
devotee — a passionate lover of poetry . His m ind 
was filled with the creations of the masters, and 
he delighted till the end in his Shakespeare ; at 
eighty declaiming with enthusiasm the fine 

passages that he loved. 

K. S. B. 
phii,ade;i:,phia, pa., 

May, 1^00. 



XI 



TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY 

Spirit serene, that ever com'st to me 

With sotil-refreshing, purifying power, 
Teach me the language I ma^/ speak to thee, 

Here in the holy hush of evening's hour. 
Then let me tell how once I burned to grace 

Thy forehead with some lyric trophy meet, 
And now regret that I can only place 

A garland so unworthy at thy feet ! 



''FAR I WANDER" 



SONG 



Far I wander, maiden, yet 

Be it e'er so far, 
Never shall my heart forget 

Thee and thy guitar. 
Was the ear delighted most 

By that voice of thine, 
Or the eye by all the boast 

Of thy charms divine? 
If we listened to thy strain. 

Eyes refused to see, 



FAR I WANDKR 



And to hear it was in vain, 
If we looked at thee ! 

II 
On the sunny hills of Spain, 

In Italia' s clime, 
Still shall music's sweet refrain 

Bring me back the time, 
When th}^ voice within my heart 

Such an echo found. 
It has now become a part 

Of all lovely sound ! 
Far I v/ander, maiden, 3^et 

Be it e'er so far, 
I'll remember and regret 

Thee and th}^ guitar. 



'THO' ON SAVANNAH'S SUNNY SHORE" 

SONG 

I 

Tho' on Savannah's sunny shore 

An earlier flower may blow, 
And nature here her vernal store 

With richer hand bestow ; 
The stranger by your glancing stream 

With pensive step may roam, 
Yet dearer far that river deem 

That freezes near his home. 

II 
In vain your rich luxuriant groves 

May breathe the blandest air 
That filled v/itli fragrance idly roves 



'*THO' ON savannah's SUNNY SHORES " 

And wantons everywhere ; — 
In vain your sweet melodious bird 
Its soul in song may pour, — 

Yet by the stranger is preferred 
His wind-swept forest's roar. 

Ill 
But not in vain the glorious eyes 

That light your southern clime, 
And brighter than your sunny skies, 

Make ever summer-time ! 
And not in vain the kindly hearts 

That welcome those who roam ; 
From these with pangs the stranger parts 

As from a native home ! 

AUGUSTA, GEORGIA, 

April, 1835. 



THE TWILIGHT WALK 

Not in the lighted halls of social mirth, 
Nor 'mid the splendours of rejoicing day, 

But in the sweetest solitude of earth, — 
In the cool quiet of the evening's ra}^ 

Thou com'st to me, sweet Spirit ! like the dew 
Descending softly on the fainting flower, 

With heaven-refreshing influence to renew 
The withered feelings of a happier hour. 

Then, all forgetful of a sordid race, 

And from my baser self awhile set free. 



THE TWIIvIGHT WAI,K 

The paths of purest pleasure I retrace 

And wander near an angel's side — by thee. 

If I forget thee in the haunts of men, 

And to their soulless aims my thoughts resign, 

In the dim gloaming come to me again, 

And lead me gently to that world of thine ! 



''I PASSED ONE GORGEOUS EVENING 

I passed one gorgeous evening 

As day began to pale, — 
Beside a woodland lakelet 

Within a lonely vale. 

Its shores were fringed with willows, 
And many a flower was seen 

Above the placid mirror 

That showed the sky serene ; 

How often since I left it, 

That quiet little lake 
Has heard the storm above it 

In peals of thunder break ; 



''l PASSED ONE GORGEOUS EVENING" 

The summer fiower has vanished, 
The willows lost their glow, 

In ice has winter bound it 
And prisoned it in snow. 

But through the changing seasons. 

In bright or cloudy day, 
To me a lake of summer 

It evermore will stay : 

And once in gladsome boyhood 

I knew a careless child 
With rosy cheek and gentle heart, — 

How joyous and how wild ! 

How often since that moment 
Her voice has rung with glee, — 



I PASSED OXE GORGEOUS EVENING" 



How lovely is her beauty 
May not be sung hy me ! 

In sunshine or in shadow 

Her pathway may have passed ; 

I only see the maiden 

Who bounded by me last. 



10 



"NAY, WARN MK NOT" 

Nay, warn me not of witching eyes 
With looks that fascinate the while, 

Nor, smiling, tell what danger lies 
In half so dangerous a smile ! 

Thy warbling lips but vainly seek 
The roused passion to control, 

When every syllable they speak 
Is madness to the burning soul ! 

Thus haply may the siren sing 
The dangers of her dreadful rock, 

In melody too sure to bring 

The listening mariner to the shock. 



11 



"nay, warn MB NOT 



Too late the warning note to heed 
When once within the vortex tossed : 

Who ventures near thee — Heaven speed ! 
His hearing or his heart is lost ! 



12 



FOREBODINGS 

Fairest ! I fear that years of vain regret 
For these neglected hours are stored for me, 

When I shall deeply mourn that e'er I met, 
Or meeting, then could ever part from thee. 

When I shall wander far in other climes 
And gaze on eyes almost as bright as thine, 

And hear sweet voices that shall bring these 
times 
But not their freshness, to this soul of mine: 

How humbled then, in bitterness of heart, 
For one dear hour like this, would I forecro 



18 



FOREBODINGS 



The range of nature and the love of art, — 
All wealth can give, or fame herself bestow! 

When gasping faint, where mighty minds re- 
spired, 

Faltering, where genius once triumphant 
trode, — 

The dust still hallowed, and the air yet fired, 

As round their god-like visitants it glowed, — 

How shall my long- desponding heart despair, 

And turn from trophies that can ne'er be 
mine ; 

And, when thy life it is too late to share, 

Long for the quiet of a grave near thine. 



14 



TO MARIAN 

WHO FORKBODKD A DKCAY OF FKKI.ING 

ShaIvI. Spring again her glories shower 
Profusely on the laughing earth, 

And I not feel for mead or flower 
A genial sympathy of mirth ? 

Shall all the groves their gladness pour, 
The skies in all their splendour blaze, 

And I exult to hear no more, — 
Nor longer kindle as I gaze ? 

And, Marian, shall thy radiant form 
Float beauteously before mj^ view, 



15 



TO MARIAN 



And I not feel my bosom warm, 
And worship then, as now I do ? 

Thy smile will fade, thou dar'st to say, 
And e'en thine eye no more be bright,— 

Oh, long before that dismal da}^ 

Death ! darken all my davs in nio^ht ! 



IG 



THE SOLACE OF NATURE 
I dolci colli ov^ io lasciai me stesso. — petearca 

I 

If in strange cities thou shouldst wander lone, — 

A lost intruder in a crowded street, 

Whom none may care for, and who cares for 
none, 

Since there no form familiar he may greet, 

No heart in unison with his to beat, — 

And thou art sad, as memory retraces 

Sweet distant scenes — than ever, now, more 
sweet, — 

And the fond look of well-remembered faces 
Which gave the dearest charm that hallowed 
those loved places: 



17 



THE SOI.ACE OF NATURE 
II 

Then, if th)^ heart revolting with disdain 

Spurns at the low pursuits of half mankind, 
And flies communion, lest its sordid chain 

Within their prison should thy spirit bind — 
Turn from the market-place of men, and find 

In the fair fields, the solace that forever 
Flows with renewing freshness for the mind — 

A fountain gushing from the glorious giver — 

Bright stream! a soul-restoring and triumphant 
river ! 

Ill 
Rush to the hills and from their heights survey 

The face of nature, still serenely fair ! 

She smiles upon thee as in childhood's day. 

When thou wast smiling — for thou knew'st 
no care — 



18 



THB SOIvACK OF NATURE; 

Far other look thine altered brow may wear, 

Yet hers is still the same, and still her voice 

Breathes its familiar notes upon the air, 

As when her groves melodious were thy 
choice. 

And bade thee fervently, as now they do, 
rejoice.. 

IV 

Rejoice ! with silver step the laughing stream 
To its own music dances on its way; 

The grain-field glitters in the summer beam, 
While breezes o'er its golden ocean play; 

The birds bid welcome with mellifluous lay ; 

The groves invite thee to their shadowy 
deep — 

Here by the flow 'ring pathway mayst thou 
stra}^, 



19 



THK SOIvACK OF NATURE 

Or climb the rock and lofty mountain-steep, 

And there, on high, thy solitary commune 
keep. 

V 

Rejoice that such a lovely world is given, 
So full of beauty, to delight thine eye. 

But more rejoice thee that indulgent Heaven 
Bestowed a soul its beauty to descry — 

Reflecting all the joy of earth and sky ! 

Thy cheek upon her breast^secure from 
harms — 

The world's indifference thou canst all defy. 

Child of her heart ! adorer of her charms ! 

Nature receives thee with a parent's open 
arms ! 



20 



TO A LADY 

ABOUT TO SIT FOR HKR PORTRAIT 

I 

Oh, do not mock the pencil's power, 
Nor bid the artist feebly trace 
An image of ethereal grace, 
A shade of thy celestial face, 

Still varying — lovelier every hour ! 

II 

Deep in the holy haunted cell 

Of poet's thought, and painter's mind, 
From vulgar gaze forever shrined, 
Beings that leave the day behind, 

In soft mysterious twilight dwell. 



21 



TO A LADY 



III 

Their beauty language fails to catch, 

Their forms, that float like clouds in heaven 
Or play as waves in tints of even 
O'er pebbly shores by breezes driven, 

No pencilled hues nor shapes can match ! 



22 



THE STORM 

Swift to the topmost crag I sped, 
And felt the rain beat on my head ; 
The thunder bellowed through the sky, 
And lightning flashed incessant by ; 
The clouds that canopied the heaven 
Seemed by the dreadful uproar riven, 
And through the transient chasm showed 
The glory that behind them glowed, 
As tho' the God of storms were there, 
And his attending angels were 
Enrobed in drapery of night. 
And armed with lightnings and with might. 
Upon the rock I sat, and hoped 



23 



THE STORM 



Some fatal arrow, error-sloped, 

Might glance from off its cloudy targe 

And free m}^ spirit of its charge. 

I thought at last that thus my soul 

Would speedier find its wished- for goal ; 

Loosed in the midst cf storms, it might 

Take to itself the shaft of light,— 

For it a bright ethereal wing, — 

At once to realms above to spring ! 

Vain was the wish i The flash went by ; 

Death hovered near me in the sky, 

But on my heart he would not fling 

The awful shadow of his wing. 

COIvUMBIA, PA., 

1824' 



24 



TO A PORTRAIT 



OF be^atrice: cknci 



Wast thou a being of an earth-born race, 

Or but descended from some radiant sphere, 
When Guido sav/ the seraph in thy face 

And gave thee to the world, unchanging, 
here ? 
If thou wast mortal — and we know thy lot 
Was one of sorrow in this sorrowing spot — 

His touch translated thee, and thou wast 
caught 
Up to the heaven of genius in the glow 

Of thy celestial beauty, with the thought 
Of angels throned upon thy tranquil brow, 



25 



TO A PORTRAIT 



And woman's tenderness within thine eyes, 
All sorrow pitying, but all pain above ; 

We claim for earth, yet know thee of the skies, 
And while we worship can not help but love ! 



26 



THE WILD SWAN 

I saw on the breast of a beautiful river 

That reflected the green of the hill, — 
While scarce to the sunbeam it gave a slight 
quiver, 

For the breath of the morning was still, — 
A bird, with a breast than the drifted snow 
whiter. 

Serenely and silently glide, 
And give to the waters an image still brighter, — 

Seeming Peace upon Pleasure's fair tide. 
Still on, like the Solitude's spirit it glided, 

When, a stranger intruding too near, 



27 



THK WIIvD SWAN 



Uprising, its wings the light ether divided, 
Far awa}^ from all shadow of fear ! 

Oh, happy the soul that reposes so lightly- 
On the bosom of temporal things ; 

At danger's approach it can soar away brightly, 
Above, on ethereal wings ! 

COI^UMBIA, PA., 
6 mo. 1828. 



28 



TO A MAJKSTIC TREE 

Alia dolce 07nhra de le telle frondi 

I 

Tall tree ! thou hast given a pleasant shade 
For many a warm and weary hour 

To the lowly roof and the cottage bower, 
And oft at eve thou hast whispered o'er 

The laborer resting beside his door : 
Now cottage and laborer low are laid 
And yet thou dost not fade. 

II 

Oh, many an eve, o'er the smooth green plain, 

Have the rustic girl and the village boy 
Danced with the airy steps of joy. 



29 



TO A maj:e:stic tre:k 

While thy leafy limbs have o'er them swung 
As their song, or louder laughter, rung : 
No trace of the revel or song remain, — 
Thy leaves will dance again. 

Ill 

Lofty and lonely thou meet'st the sky, 
A towering shade and a mark from afar 

To the traveller, like a landward star 
Leading him on in his pathless way ; 

A shelter, too, on a stormy day : 

The travellers sleep that have passed thee by, — 
Thou standest, still, on high. 

COIvUMBIA, PA., 
1824. 



30 



A MEMORY 

SONG 

I 

I love the flowers, I love the flowers, 

They sweetly breathe to me 
The fragrance of deserted bowers 

I never more may see. 
I love the flowers, I love the flowers, 

For oh, my heart perceives 
The color of its happiest hours 

Reflected on their leaves ! 

II 

I love the flowers, I love the flowers, 
Thus falling to decay, — 



31 



A MEMORY 



Too like that cherished one of ours 

Already passed away. 
Their fleeting tints and fragrance bring 

Fit emblem of her doom; 
For when was passed her day of Spring 

She faded in her bloom. 



32 



'OH, WAS IT IN A I.AND OF DREAMS" 

We met — we never met before, 

And yet thine eyes were known to me ; 
And often mine have rambled o'er 

Charms that belong, alone, to thee. 

It was not in my native clime 
I could have seen thy fairy form, 

For thou hast grown, since childhood's time, 
Among thy flowery valleys warm. 

Oh, was it in some land of dreams 
I wandered with a nymph like thee — 

The fairest — where ambrosial streams, 
O'er sapphires rolling, sparkle free? 



33 



"oh, was it in a land of drbams 

Or, was it in some former sphere, 
lyOng since, my errant spirit met 

Those beauties, that to venture near 
Is never — never to forget ? 

In some sweet planet, long forgot, 
I loved thee well, I dare engage ; 

And in another star, a spot 

We'll find for love some future age 



34 



THE NAMEI.KSS STAR 

I asked a Sage with hoary hair, 

With sunken cheek and hollow eye, — 

Who scanned within the midnight air 
The courses of the stars on high, — 

Why watched he thus the weary night 
And studied through the live- long day ? 

What guerdon bright had he in sight 
For wasting thus his frame away? 

He showed the volumes round him strewn 
Where he the planets had enrolled; 



35 



THE NAME:i,ESS star 



The comet's wandering path was shown, 
And signs and changes were foretold. 

** These — these shall bring, in after time, 
My ample recompense in fame ! " . . . 

I pointed to the blue sublime, — 

' * Yon little star, — what is its name ? ' ' 

"That? — 'tis a small, inferior light 

Which twinkles by yon lustrous sphere ; 

Men know that distant planet bright, — 
The other is not charted here." 

And is it so? and has a world 
For ages rolled its radiant car, 



86 



THE NAMELESS STAR 

♦ 

Night after night its flame unfurled, 
And is it still — a nameless star? 

Yet man, who shines one little night, 
Would hear from every lip his name, 

Dazzle the present with his light, 
And fill the future with his fame! 



37 



THE EARI.Y DEAD 
I 
Blest the dead, the early dead ! 
Tears for them shall not be shed: — 
Mercy gives a gentle doom, 
Leads them to the sheltering tomb, 
While the sky of life is bright, 
Ere the coming of the night : 
Those that linger long, shall know 
Storm and darkness, cold and snow ; 
But secure in peaceful rest, 
Lie the early dead — the blest ! 

II 
From the spring-time fields they fled, 
Ere one glossy leaf was shed ; 



38 



THK EARIyY D^AD 



While the bee was on the flower, 
While the bird sang in the bower; 
Fragrance floating all around, 
Mingled with delicious sound: — 
Slow we see them pass away, 
And should mourn not their decay. 
Birds shall sing, and roses bloom 
O'er the early, envied tomb ! 

Ill 
Gone ! with buoyant hearts and young, 
But to tones of rapture strung ! 
Kre the jarring notes of care 
Mingled discord with despair. 
They shall feel no powers decline, 
See nor strength nor beauty pine; 



39 



THB EARLY DEAD 



Know not friends to death depart ; 
Never mourn for treachery's smart — 
Happy dead ! — escaped from pain, 
All must feel who yet remain ! 

IV 

Better than the best of life 

Is a respite from its strife. 

Those who live shall sigh for death, 

Draw in pain their lingering breath ; 

But no pang shall ever grieve 

Sleep of theirs — too sweet to leave ! 

When the morn of life is o'er, 

Life has only death in store ; 

Joy for those, and triumph high, — . 

Blessed dead, who earl 3" die ! 



40 



LOST HOURS 

Oh ! what shall recompense for years 
Forever lost ere thou wast known? 

For long contending hopes and fears, 
A life of weariness alone ? 

A captive slave in dungeon- night 
I lay till I was found by thee; 

Thy look first blest my soul with light, 
Thy voice first brought me ecstasy ! 

Life was not life till thou didst give 
A charm to all the chains I wore, 

And taught me then the hope to live, 
Whose only hope was death before 1 



41 



I.OST HOURS 



lyike one who walks with soul athirst, 
At noon o'er Afric's burning waste, 

Unconscious near the fountain-burst 

Whose freshness he would die to taste, 

I passed thee long unheeded by, 
Nor knew till late that thou for me 

Didst life for lingering death supply, 
And make it rapture but to be 1 



42 



THE WOODLAND WALK 

^'Oh, whitlier will it lead us, love, — 

The way through this sequestered glade?" 

The clouds were gold the hills above ; 

The breeze through wavering branches played; 

And on we walked, still sure to choose 

The loveliest path, when pathways crossed, — 

Though that appeared too plain to lose, 
And this too lovely to be lost. 

*'0h, swiftly sinks the summer sun, — 
Where will our devious wanderings lead?" 

But my love's wa}^ and mine were one, 
Its course how little did I heed ! 



43 



THK WOODI.AND WAI,K 



Sv/eet sang the bird ; the evening calm 
O'er fragrant flowers, soft-breathing, stole; 

But his dear lips had richer balm 
And sweeter music to my soul ! 

Night lowered on our lonely path, 

The woodland now grew dark and drear, 

The storm came down with dreadful wrath, 
Yet what cared I ? — my love v/as near 1 

"Ah, beat, thou storm!" I softly cried, 
"And strike, thou lightning, with thy dart !' 

For in that hour I could have died 
With rapture, on m}^ lover's heart. 



44 



REVISITED 

I linger in this lonely glen 

Where, Mary, last I strayed with thee, 
And walk the spot I worshipped then — 

Why seems it not so bright to me? 

The blossom breathes as sweet perfume, 
The blackbird now as blithely sings, 

The wild-rose bears as rich a bloom. 
As glad the glittering torrent springs : 

Th}^ voice was svv'eeter than the bird 
So wildly warbling in the tree ; 

And must his melody be heard 

When I no more may list to thee? 



45 



REVISITED 



Thy cheek was brighter than the rose 
Which golden summers make to bloom; 

And shall I mark its leaves unclose 
When thou art folded in the tomb 1 

The torrent with a freer leap 

Than thine sprang not upon its track ; 
Unfettered this its course will keep — 

But what will bring thy footsteps back ? 

Thy bounding form of sylph- like grace, 
A laugh, — how musically wild ! 

An angel intellect of face — 
Seraphic, and serenely mild: 

All these entranced me, Mary, when. 
As being of a brighter birth. 



46 



REVISITED 



Thy presence gave this lovely glen 
The glow of Heaven upon the earth. 

As bright to all the world but me, 
Will still be this romantic spot; 

But how can all this beauty be, 
When, sw^eetest Mary, thou art not! 



47 



IN YOUTH 

When on the Susquehanna's side 
I roamed a free and venturous boy, 
I sang her scenes with patriot pride, 
My lyre was then my hope and joy. 
I had no other thought of fame 
Than that which wreathes a poet's name; 
And tho' my song but little showed 
The fervour in my heart that glowed, 
1. felt at least a poet's flame. 

^ * * -5^ -rr -H- 

A playful fancy still her nest 
Built in the lowly bower, my breast ; 
And thence she sprang, on airy wing, — 
For home so dark, how bright a thing ! 



IN YOUTH 



She watched the changes nature gave,- 
A wreathing cloud, a curling wave, 
A setting sun, a drooping flower ; 
Thus musing many a pensive hour, 
She found in every changing mood 
To life and fate, similitude. 
1824. 



49 



THE CONJUNCTION OF TWO PLANETS 

Mark, Marian, yonder glorious star 

That blazes in the western sky, 
And then that golden orb, afar, 

That claims no less the wondering eye ; , 

But late twin children of the night, 
They roamed in beaut}^ side by side, 

Out- dazzling every other light. 

Themselves the firmamental pride. 

For years in their empyreal race 

Their paths approached — an hour were one — 
Then crossed, and through the fields of space 

Must ever farther widening run : 



50 



THB CONJUNCTION OF TWO PI.ANKTS 

Full well we know, who, e'en as they, 
More near and dear for years became, 

Whose steps have parted, and who may 
No longer know a path the same ! 



51 



DKATH 

What is it then to die? Oh, die we never 

Before Death strikes us down into the tomb? 
The easiest end we meet is when for ever 

We leave life's darkness for the softer gloom 
Of that earth- walled, grass- draperied little room 

Where sorrow comes not. But to live and know 
The loss of all the heart holds dear below, 

To see them meet th' inevitable doom, — 
This is the death in life — the bitterest woe ! 



COLUMBIA, PA., 

1824. 



52 



ON PRESENTING A ROSE 

For thee I placed upon my breast 

This rose that with the morning blushed ; 

Too closely to my bosom pressed 

Behold it, — drooping, faded, crushed. 

Ah, heaven forbid ! thou fairer flower, 
Thy fate in this should imaged be,— 

To wither in an evil hour 

Upon the breast should shelter thee ! 

No— no, these faded rose-leaves give 
An emblem of my heart more true, — 

Whose swelling hopes have ceased to live — 
And paled, long since, its sanguine hue. 



53 



ON PRESENTING A ROSE 



Then dash away the drooping thing 
That we no more its blight may see ; 

And this crushed heart far from thee fling, 
For it is all unworthv thee ! 



5i 



TO A MINIATURE 

THE CASB OF WHICH HAD BBKN INDENTED BY 
A DAGGER 

Fair image of the fairest face, 
Worn nearest to thy lover's heart, 

'Twas thine to guard thy resting place 
And turn aside the assassin's dart. 

Thy truer image — thy pure life — 

Has thus preserved a changeless faith 

Thro' many a scene of calm and strife, 
And dangers deadlier far than death : 

For what could touch with mortal harm 
The heart that wore thee as its charm ! 

LofC. 

55 



''WHENE'ER I THINK HOW BRIEF 
THE TIME" 

SONG 

Whene'er I think how brief the time 
Or I must hasten far from thee, 

No more, perhaps, thy sunny clime, 
No more thy sunnier eyes to see ; 

I almost wish my colder home 

Had fettered still my wandering feet, 

Nor left me liberty to roam, 
Captivity abroad to meet. 

Since I have met thee but to leave, 
Have known thee only to regret, 



56 



WHENE'ER I THINK HOW BRIEF THE TIME 



Rejoiced beside thee — but to grieve, 
And all but wish we ne'er had met,- 

Far better thus I deem my fate — 
Absent forever now, to be ; 

Than here to live all desolate, 

Without the hope of meeting thee! 

ATHENS, GA. 



57 



''I THINK OF THEK" 

SONG 

I think of thee, I think of thee, 

When in the east the day-spring flushes, 

For still thy presence is to me 

As to the night the morning's blushes. 

I think of thee, I think of thee, 

When western skies are faintly shining, 

For in the fading tints I see 

My life, without thy smile, declining ! 



58 



TO A LADY SINGING 

SONG 

I 

Oil, let me gaze, for I forget 

When I behold those heavenly eyes, 
That I am but a mortal yet, 

And thou art absent from the skies. 
The radiance of a dreamed-of world 

Plays softly o'er thy face benign, 
And glories but to sleep unfurled, 

Serenely on thy features shine. 

II 

Oh, sing again ! for earth is passed, 
Its jarring notes unheeded roll. 



59 



TO A LADY SINGING 



Its cares are all at distance cast, 
And rapture, only, bathes the soul I 

What tho' the past in sadness lower, 
What tho' the future darker be? 

Nor past nor future now have power,- 
There is but heaven in hearing thee 



60 



THE POET 

The cloud that wreathes the setting sun 
Is crimsoned when his light is done ; 

The heart that once is fired with song 
Retains its lingering flushes long ! 



61 



'*I COULD HAVE BORNE" 

I could have borne to hear thee sigh, 
To mark the tear upon thy cheek ; 

The heart's bright tell-tale in thine eye 
Of softer griefs would seem to speak. 

And once I thought thine icy woes 
Might melt themselves in tears away, 

As streams, at winter midnight froze, 
Will trickle at return of day. 

The frequent sigh, — that wandering glance, - 
The sudden start, — that anguished brow, 

Told thou wast held in sorrow's trance, 
Spoke much of pain, — but not till now,- 



62 



I COULD HAVK EORNK 



Not till thy sorrow-cheating smile 
I saw, could I divine thy grief; 

That said thy mirth w^as forced, the while 
Thy heart was seared as Autumn's leaf. 

Since feigned joy reveals the more 

Thy griefs, than e'en thy tears can do, 

O let thy sorrows shade thee o'er, 

But bring not smiles to prove them true 



63 



THE RIVER 



Wouldst thou mark the Susquehanna's course 

Where 'tis boldest and best to see? 
Then come where it swells from its mountain 
source 

And foams in its furious glee, 
Then bounds away like a wild war-horse 
In its strength exulting free ! 

II 

When it sweeps with the wealth of its farthest 
shore 
So grandly on to the deep ; 



64 



TH:e RIVKR 

Or rests awhile 'neath tlie glancing oar, 

In the mountain shade to sleep ; 
Or lingers slow by. the sycamore 

Where the island birches weep. 

Ill 

Oh, come to the Susquehanna shades 

Ere the balmy Spring goes by ; 
Kre the poplar's tulip-garden fades 

From its breezy bed on high ; 
And mark the pool where the heron wades 

And the summer-duck floats by! 

IV 

Where the breath of the clover fills the vale, 
And the wild-grape scents the breeze. 



65 



THK riv:e:r 

Where the elder- blossom whitens the dale, 
And the sweet birds in the trees, 

With their wild- wood melody cannot fail 
The rudest heart to please. 

V 

Thou shouldst come to the Susquehanna hills 

Or her laurels lose their glow; 
Where the placid pools of her mountain rills 

Mirror their roseate snow ; 
Where the rock its crystal stream distils 

On the moss and the fern below. 

VI 

Thou shouldst climb her cliffs to their proudest 
peak 



66 



THK RIVKR 



And glance o'er the River there, 
Or the loftiest woodland summit seek, 

And, spread in the azure air, 
See forest, and field, and spire, — then speak- 

Does the world hold aught more fair? 



COI.UMBIA, PA., 
6 mo. 1828. 



67 



"MY OWN FAMILIAR NAME" 

I 

Oh, call me by that name again, — 

My own familiar name ! 
To me more dear than all the vain 

Tho' honoured sounds of fame. 
Far rather from affection's tongue 

Might it salute mine ear, 
Than from the throats of thousands rung 

Their high triumphal cheer ! 

II 

It brings me back a former day, — 
Ah, would I were the same ! — 

When those who shared my happy play 
Gave me no other name. 



**MY OWN I^AMIWAR NAM« " 

It brings the memory of an hour, 

But cannot bring to me 
The glow of sunshine and of flower, 

The heart so light and free. 

Ill 

Man's cold respect I since have heard 

Enough my heart to chill; 
But in that frank, familiar word 

There's tone of comfort still. 
Then speak that friendly name again 

I knew when but a boy ; 
I hear it with a pleasant pain 

That's dearer far than joy ! 



REGRET 

How gladly oft would we recall 
Breath that has passed in idle words, 
Escaped like liberated birds 
We never can again enthrall ! 
And fewer still the lines we pen 
We do not wish untraced again ; 
For let us write our songs in air, 
Or trace our follies anywhere, 
Soon all our pride in them is past 
And we regret them at the last ! 



70 



NOTE 

The portrait from which the Frontispiece for 
this volume is taken^ was painted in Paris, in 
1S37, by the Author's friend and fellow -student, 
James DeVeaux of South Carolina, who died in 
Rome in 1844, and lies buried near the resting 
place of Keats, and close to the grave of Shelley. 

DeVeaux was made a member of the National 
Academy of Design in the Spring of 1844, but 
he died without a knowledge of the honor ac- 
corded him. 

This portrait of J. Houston Mifflin is now in 
possession of his son, Mr. Lloyd Mifflin, to whom 
the Editor's acknowledgments are due for per- 
mission to reproduce it here. 

PH1I,ADEI/PHIA, PA., 
May, igoo. 



73 



JUL Ibiyuu 



